Luke 19:28-40

Rev. Richard R. Wohlschlaeger

Swarthmore Presbyterian Church

March 28, 2010

When nature sings, we have a sign that God cannot be stopped.  In his exuberant invitation to abundant life the prophet Isaiah proclaims in the concluding verses of chapter 55: For you shall go out in joy,/and be led back in peace;/the mountains and the hills before you/shall burst into song,/and all the trees of the field shall clap their/hands./Instead of the thorn shall come up the cypress;/instead of the brier shall come up the myrtle;/and it shall be to the LORD for a memorial,/for an everlasting sign that shall not be cut off.  In late summer, when many flowers have withered and dried up, I gaze upon the beautiful crepe myrtles in luxurious bloom in our courtyard.  And, yes, I think of these words from Isaiah, and I remember that when nature sings, we have a sign that God cannot be stopped.

Psalm 19 celebrates creation, proclaiming that even nature speaks in silent but sublime splendor to the everlasting Word of God: The heavens are telling the glory of God;/and the firmament proclaims his handiwork./Day to day pours forth speech,/and night to night declares knowledge./There is no speech, nor are there words;/their voice is not heard;/yet their voice goes out through all the earth,/and their words to the end of the world.  When nature sings, we have a sign that God cannot be stopped.

Think of our hymnody.  A few Sundays ago we sang one of the beloved hymns of our tradition, “This is My Father’s World.”  Most of you probably could sing almost all of it by memory (or by heart, as we like to say).  This is stanza one: This is my Father’s world,/And to my listening ears/All nature sings, and round me rings/The music of the spheres./This is my Father’s world;/I rest me in the thought/Of rocks and trees, of skies and seas;/His hand the wonders wrought.  It’s even better with the melody.

And finally – though there are many more examples that don’t just come from the top of my head – think of the joy of Christmas and the beloved hymn that usually concludes the reading of the story of the Nativity on Christmas Eve:  Joy to the world!  the Lord is come;/Let earth receive her King;/Let every heart prepare Him room,/And heaven and nature sing.  And in the second stanza: Joy to the world!  the Savior reigns:/Let us our songs employ;/While fields and floods, rocks, hills, and plains/Repeat the sounding joy,/Repeat the sounding joy,/Repeat the sounding joy.  God is more than a God of nature, but sometimes it seems that God’s justice is embedded in nature.  And when nature sings, we have a sign that God cannot be stopped.

And so it was that day so long ago as Luke tells the story of Jesus entering Jerusalem on a donkey.  We all know some version of the story which has come to be called Palm Sunday in the tradition, though only John’s Gospel says specifically that the people “took branches of palm trees and went out to meet [Jesus].”  Matthew tells us that some people cut “branches from the trees” and Mark says “others spread leafy branches which they had cut from the fields.”  But did you notice in the reading from Luke that there’s no mention at all of branches or palms, only that as “[Jesus] rode along, people kept spreading their cloaks on the road”?  It‘s interesting what we can hear even when we don’t hear it, particularly if we’ve heard the story so many times we begin to fill in the blanks for ourselves.

The story we tell of Palm Sunday is really a composite, I suspect, various details brought together to form one familiar story.  But familiarity should not keep us from hearing the particular emphasis in each of the Gospel accounts.  And in Luke’s Gospel the important unique detail comes to us in a line only Luke includes.  It’s the line I had in mind as I began with all the references to nature’s outbursts proclaiming God’s Word.  It’s the line that concluded our reading a few minutes ago: “I tell you,” Jesus says, “if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”

What’s Luke telling us that the other Gospel writers don’t emphasize in the same way?  Think again of what happens in the Palm Sunday story.  Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan write in their collaborative book entitled The Last Week that there were two processions into Jerusalem that last Passover week of Jesus’ life.  From the west came Pilate draped in the gaudy glory of imperial power: horses, chariots, and gleaming armor.  He moved in with the Roman army at the beginning of Passover week to make sure nothing would get out of hand.  Insurrection was in the air as the Jews remembered and commemorated God’s deliverance of their Hebrew ancestors from slavery in Egypt. 

And from the east came another procession, a quite different parade: Jesus in ordinary robe riding on a young donkey.  Jesus did not ride into town on his high horse, but on a lowly beast of burden.  But Jesus knew exactly what he was doing.  Old Testament prophecies – especially in the prophet Zechariah – speak of the coming of a new kind of king riding on a donkey, a king of peace who will dismantle the weaponry of war.  And there were many among the people – especially among people living in a land oppressed by the occupying forces of Rome – who longed for a new kind of king and a new kind of kingdom.  Jesus had given them many signs of a new kind of kingdom, and their hope for a new way of life had risen.

In fact, the throng of followers could not contain themselves that day.  They threw their cloaks on the ground as a responsive sign of greeting royalty.  Some even cut branches of palms symbolizing national victory and triumph.  We can understand how such behavior could incite strong opposition from Roman authorities through the western gate with presumption of power. 

That’s when some of the Pharisees in the crowd urge Jesus to silence his followers.  Why?  Are they embarrassed by the wild, ecstatic praise?  Are they trying to warn Jesus of the danger of such a demonstration as they had earlier in telling him that Herod was out to kill him?  Are they afraid that the Roman authorities would smell insurrection and come with terrible vengeance against the nation?  Probably some of each.

And that’s when Jesus turns to the voices of caution and says in words recorded only in Luke: “I tell you, if these were silent, the stones would shout out.”  When nature sings, we have a sign that God cannot be stopped.  Such a moment occurred the day Jesus entered Jerusalem and even the stones would not shut up.  There comes a time when injustice, for all its preening and posturing, will end.  Habukkuk, a prophet less well known than Isaiah but a strong voice for God’s justice nevertheless, proclaims that injustice will not last forever.  Jesus would have known those words: The very stones of the house built on corruption “will cry out from the wall” Habakkuk said. 

Like it or not, Palm Sunday throws us into the middle of the most highly charged political conflict in Jesus’ life leading to his crucifixion.  Without Palm Sunday, there is probably no Good Friday.  But the better news is that without Good Friday there is no Easter.  It’s all part of one big story.  But sometimes it’s kind of hard living some parts of the story, isn’t it?

Frankly, the last thing I feel I need this Palm Sunday is more reminders of political conflict.  I suspect that most of us, whatever our position on the recent debates in Washington, feel somewhat worn down by it all.  In the midst of political wrangling we can find it difficult to sort fact from fiction, hope from fear, reason from emotion.  These are difficult times to discern the intersection of our responsibility as citizens and our faithfulness as Christians.  Interpretations of the civic landscape differ markedly even among those who profess a Christian faith.  But it remains yet our responsibility to remain faithful to God as we seek also to be responsible citizens, for even political conflict is a blessing of our democracy.  Consider some of the alternatives.  I pray that we pray and continue to labor together for the good of our country and for God’s justice to prevail.

Of the latter we can be certain.  God’s justice will prevail.  That is what we proclaim this Palm Sunday morning as Christians aware of the suffering ahead for Jesus in the week before us, but aware also of the extraordinary turn of events when the women and the disciples who expect to weep at the tomb are made to have their lives turned around in joy for the risen Christ among them.  That Spirit power continues to fill our lives and to activate and energize all of God’s creation.  And when nature sings, we have a sign that God cannot be stopped.

There’s lots of noise right now in our political struggles.  There’s noise in Washington and there’s still noise this Palm Sunday in Jesus’ own Jerusalem, even two thousand years since our story was written.  The noise just doesn’t seem to let up.  But somewhere and somehow, in the midst of all the tumult of the conflicting parades, whatever God’s voice needs to say, God’s voice will find a way say it.  For even otherwise mute stones cry out in the face of injustice. 

I visited the Constitution Center yesterday for the first time in several years.  Walking through the exhibits of the struggles in our land since its founding, such as the fight for women’s suffrage or for the full civil rights of a people long denied, I thought of stones crying out.  Or if you want to look no further than the front page of the newspaper this week, think of the deaf boys, now men, in the Catholic school in Milwaukee who have not forgotten and are still crying out. 

And remember our beloved hymn with which we began.  This is how it ends: This is my Father’s world;/Oh, let me ne’er forget/That though the wrong seems oft so strong,/God is the Ruler yet./This is my Father’s world;/The battle is not done;/Jesus who died shall be satisfied,/And earth and heaven be one.

Amen.